It's been five months, and Tony hasn't heard from them again.
He can't say he isn't disappointed, though he doesn't know why he should be. They don't owe him anything, and it isn't like they promised to come back. He doesn't even know why he wants them to. He's never going to trust them; he promised himself that much.
Tony sighs, the graph paper blurring in front of him, his pencil shaking in his hand. Damn, he can't concentrate like this.
"Anthony," an angry voice asks from the doorway, and Tony immediately stiffens. "Those papers better be finished by tonight, you hear me? Obadiah's coming to get them."
Tony doesn't say anything, just closes his eyes to ease the pounding in his head.
He guesses he blanks out for a minute, because the next thing he knows, Howard is grabbing his arms and throwing him out of his chair. Tony connects with the wood floor and lies there, too stunned to move. After a second of harsh breathing, he pushes himself up on his elbows, the world spinning.
He doesn't know how long he's been awake. Tony messed up a week ago and gave his father incomplete schematics. Howard didn't even take a second look at them, just passed them along to the Board. Apparently, they'd been none too pleased to be given half done projects and took it out on Howard, because that was who they were supposed to be from. Not his thirteen-year-old son.
So Howard takes it out on Tony.
And all Tony can do, really, is take it.
"You answer me when I speak to you," Howard says above him, sturdy and sober and furious.
"Why?" Tony says, and he's practically digging his own grave as he pulls himself to his knees using the corner of his desk, his limbs shaking in exhaustion. "It's not like you listen anyways."
Howard and Obadiah are working him double time to get the current projects finished and to design completely new ones to make up for the ones he botched. He messed up on three of them, so they're demanding the three to be completed and the other three to be invented and perfected from scrap.
Tony isn't sure he's slept more than maybe ten hours in the past six days, and he can't do it much longer.
Howard scoffs, and Tony flinches. Sober Howard is much more terrifying than drunk Howard. Drunk Howard is a loud, angry, incoherent mess that will eventually drink himself into oblivion for the night.
Sober Howard is calm, cool, calculating, and every bit the sadistic genius the tabloids exalt.
Howard crouches down to Tony's level, but since he's kneeling, curling in on himself as he anticipates the phantom blows he can feel on his skin, Howard still towers over him. "You speak to me like that again," he says, confident and sure while Tony is trying very hard not to keel over, "I'll beat you like a drum until you can't even move, you understand me? You'll be eating out of a damn straw for six months."
Tony swallows. Looks down. Nods.
Because he doesn't deserve heroes.
Howard backhands him, and his head glances off the corner of the desk he's leaning on as he goes down. All he can do is lie there as the world stops spinning.
Howard lets himself out.
…
Four days later, it's Steve Rogers he hates the most.
He's finally done with all of the old and new projects, and all he wants to do is sleep. They've been checked and double checked and are safely stored in Obadiah's hands, on their way to the Board, and he doesn't have anything pressing for a day or two. He's so, so tired. He can't think or function or really even walk straight, because he falls into bed, the TV playing a random news station in the background, and he's so desperate to sleep. He's almost there, too, when he hears:
"—outside a bar last night in Boston, Avengers' leader 'Steve Rogers,' self-named 'Captain America,' has been forcibly taken into custody by federal officers and is currently being detained in a maximum-security prison until he can be shipped to a juvenile detention center capable of containing him. Sixteen-year-old Rogers and his associates have been—"
After a week and a half of no sleep, he's wide awake.
Tony sits up and bites his lip, looking at the screen. The warm covers he'd been nestled in fall from his body, but the chill is delayed from his focus on the screen. Someone has apparently sold Steve's mugshot to the press, because it's the one presumably taken when he was captured. There's a bruise on his left cheek and under his jaw.
His jaw is set, his eyes defiant. His blonde hair is streaked with dirt and a little blood.
He looks like he's not afraid in the slightest, but if Tony knows anything about him, he knows that's a lie.
Tony narrows his eyes in consideration. He could do nothing. There are still five of them out there, but…they'll be caught eventually, too, he's sure. They're stronger together.
He wants to help.
He wants to feel like he's doing something right.
He sighs, passively hating Steve Rogers with every fiber of his being as he drags his exhausted body out of bed and towards his phone, watching the TV for any more developments.
It picks up on the second ring. "Anthony?" Jarvis asks, sounding tired. Jarvis is the only one allowed to call him Anthony. Tony looks out the window; he hasn't realized how late it's had gotten. "Are you alright? It's the middle of the night."
Jarvis is still in contact with Tony after all these years, even against Howard and Obadiah's wishes. He'd been the one to care for him when his mother way away, and he'd been the father Howard hadn't been…since Tony could remember. When Tony's mother died, Obadiah had convinced Howard to fire Jarvis.
Tony remembers like it was yesterday. He'd read up and researched events like that: Howard and Obadiah were trying to take away his support system, make him completely dependent on them, and they'd snatched up the opportunity after his mother's accident. Then, they'd have him at his beck and call as long as they wanted.
Tony remembers being numb, because he was still grieving his mother. Jarvis had given him a cell phone with his number, one that only he could use, and Tony remembers being so relieved that he wouldn't be alone.
Jarvis has been the one constant in his entire life, and he's about the repay the man by throwing him into a warzone.
"Yeah," he says, aware of just how horrible his voice sounds. He looks around the room at his bare walls, settling on the picture of him and his mother, and he sighs. "I need a favor."
…
Steve Rogers is afraid.
He'll never let them see that. The guards who jeer and taunt him, the inmates who tease him, the disdainful looks from the ones who don't speak…he'll never give in to their words or glares. He'll walk with his head held high and his jaw set.
But on the inside, he can't help but feel afraid.
This particular mission had been, for lack of a better term, FUBAR from the start. Bucky's injury is well past healed, but he's still on surveillance until Steve is absolutely certain all danger of infection has passed. Bucky hasn't been happy about it, and Steve knows he's overreacting, but watching him bleed to death was…debilitating for Steve. He had been planted on the roof opposite the filthy dive bar they'd been scoping out, where the manager allegedly beat his wife and daughter.
He'd also been complicit in gang activity, drug smuggling, weapons smuggling, money laundering, and a hundred other misdemeanors and crimes that Steve didn't care to list. The man was bad news, and the innocent people around him were being hurt because of it.
They were supposed to go in after closing, teach him a mild lesson in humanity, and drop him a block from the police station with an anonymous tip.
It hadn't worked out that way.
Bucky had called in to him over their improvised communications system (Bruce truly was a little genius) saying that someone had tipped off the police, and they had four squad cars inbound. Bruce was safe with Bucky, and Natasha and Clint took cover easily from their positions. Thor, who'd been stationed around back, had barely dodged one of the squad cars, parkouring himself onto the roof, and Steve is actually really mad he missed that.
Steve? He had been smack in the middle of the street when the squad cars had pulled in from both sides, boxing him in.
Now? He's sitting here, in cuffs he could easily break, surrounded by people who, in lesser numbers, he could easily outmatch.
But he doesn't want to risk it until the others are safely away from the whole thing.
He knows they'll be coming up with a plan to rescue him. He knows they won't leave him, but he's afraid of what'll happen if they try and fail. He doesn't want them to end up in here.
Steve closes his eyes and tries to steady his hands.
He hears the key turn in the lock of the cell door, and through the barred window he can see three guards.
They come inside. Two of them take his arms and the other kneels in front of him, attaching the chain from his wrists to the one around his ankles, and he's pulled to stand up. They escort him out, and he tries not to feel shame as he shuffles awkwardly, the chains too short to accommodate his stature.
"Where are we going?" He asks quietly, but firmly. He doesn't want to show weakness.
But he's nervous.
"Your lawyer just showed up," one of them says, scoffing. "Not sure you've got much of a case, but hey. Give it your best shot."
Steve doesn't offer a response.
His hands are handcuffed to the steel table in front of him, and he's left staring at himself in what he's sure is a one-way mirror. The bruises on his face are still fresh, but they're slowly healing. He'd made the mistake of trying to fight back, at first, but quickly realized he was too outnumbered to do so safely.
He clenches his hands. He doesn't kill. None of them do.
That was one of their first conditions when they started this whole thing.
The door opens, and he turns to his left. It's a tall, thin, older man in a nice suit with a briefcase. He has thinning hair with gray peppered in on the sides, and his eyes are green and…kind. Steve is surprised to see a defense attorney wearing such a gentle expression.
"Good evening, Mr. Rogers," the man says, sitting down across from him and opening his briefcase. "Or should I say good morning, since it's the middle of the night. I'm your defense attorney, Edward James. I'll be discussing your current circumstances and your options thus far. Now, listen very carefully: I have your best interests in mind, and I'm going to do everything I can to help you. Is this clear?"
Something about how the words are phrased and spoken piques Steve's interest, and he straightens up, nodding.
Mr. James smiles again, and opens his briefcase. "Now. Illegal or not, as I am having a private conversation with my client, I have reason to believe this conversation is being recorded, since you're such a high-profile prisoner." Mr. James slips a piece of paper towards him, and it's folded in half. Mr. James dips his head and says, seriously, "That's for your eyes only, Mr. Rogers."
Steve understands his meaning—hold it so the cameras can't read what's on it—but he's confused as to what it could possibly say. With a building tension in his chest, his bound hands struggle to comfortably open the paper. He finally does.
He doesn't think he's ever been so relieved in his life, reading the printed words.
Idiot. I thought you guys were professionals. I'm suing for false advertising.
Also, didn't I specifically tell you not to get caught?
His relief cracks his stoic façade for a moment, and he lets out a breathy laugh of utter relief. He folds the paper carefully and slides it back to Mr. James, who smiles, understanding Steve's relief.
"Now," Mr. James says, leaning forward. "Listen very carefully…"
…
Tony yawns at his laptop, downing the dregs of his third cup of coffee, pouting when he finds it empty.
Really, God bless Jarvis. The man didn't ask but two or three questions, and that was just about what he was supposed to do. He'd been at Steve's holding cell in under three hours. Tony had been frantically messing with the real defense lawyer's personnel system to make sure she wouldn't show up to her scheduled appointment, but now he was free to plan the escape.
He really doesn't know why he's going this far. Helping them while one of them had been bleeding out was one thing…but helping the leader escape from prison?
Tony could go to jail. For a good long while, even if he was young. Everybody knows how smart he is, and he'd be tried as an adult and shipped off to who knows where.
Or—the worse option—he'd be put on parole, or put into some kind of program, and put on house arrest. And Howard and Obadiah would find out what he'd done.
Tony shivers just thinking about.
Hacking the police station's security system to obtain Steve's whereabouts had been the easy part. The maximum-security prison, however, had better firewalls, and he's reluctantly impressed with the lines of code that kept pushing him back. It wasn't elegant in the slightest—just a choppy string of lines spewed out of a formula with personal touches added every few characters—but it got the job done, and it takes him almost twenty-five minutes to gain complete access.
He syncs his laptop to the small TV on the wall, divided into segments with the security cameras. He finally skims through everything and finds the one that feeds into the interrogation room with Steve, buried behind the main hallways and cafeteria and holding cells. Steve has his head down slightly, his expression neutral, but Tony can see his tense jaw.
Tony sighs. How did they ever get along before him?
He sits up straighter when Jarvis walks in, watching closely as Steve reads the message and breathes a sigh of relief. Jarvis gives him the instructions and then gives a short, purposeful look to the security camera.
Tony cuts the first camera.
This is a delicate thing. Normally, he'd prefer to just go in guns blazing and ask questions later, but he doesn't really have the means of doing so; this has to be nice and smooth. He cuts the second on about fifteen seconds later. They need to think he's an amateur, hacking every camera one at a time. They'll have their best tech guys hop on to stop him, and that's what Tony wants; instead of spending his time doubling trying to sneak Steve and Jarvis out and trying to repel whoever tries to push him out of the system, he's just going to trap the person in his own program. They're going to chase a false trail for thirty minutes, while he wipes out their whole system, and then he's going to let them out, no harm done—minus one prisoner, of course.
Ah…there he is. Their tech person makes his first move, and Tony wants to laugh at how easily he traps him in his program, but he can't summon the extra energy.
With that done, in one fell swoop, Tony cuts the electricity, all the cameras, the air conditioning, the water…everything.
He isn't stupid, though; that's kind of his trademark. All the keycard access points are still working, because he doesn't really feel like releasing six hundred high security inmates into the wild at the moment. He'll have to unlock them door by door as Steve and Jarvis make their way out, or point them to a keycard.
"This is Officer Nolan, confirmation 620485, to control. Lights are out, inmates are panicking. Keycards still working. I'm getting similar situations from all my guys. What should we do? Over."
Tony's also brilliant in several other ways, because he helped himself to the main radio channels and has it broadcasting through his Bluetooth speaker. Glancing at Steve's cell, Steve's looking around, confused. The lights are dimmed, but he hacked into that room's circuits and kicked on the dim emergency lights, so they can see enough to move around. Jarvis is packing up, getting ready to go, and unfolding a paperclip. Of course, only Tony can see that; all the other cameras are out, and Tony's made sure there's no one watching through the one-way mirror.
Tony patches the radio waves into Jarvis' cell phone and cuts all other feeds in that area, watch on the screen as Jarvis says into the phone, communicating with the Officer:
"Yeah, Officer Nolan, this is control," he says, winking at Steve, who smiles minutely. "Concentrate guards on the prisoner wings and any unsecured doors, over." Tony's cut the camera and all the main electricity in the room, so any bugs planted would have been fried. Tony isn't worried about someone recording the room.
A burst of static. "What about Rogers, sir? Over."
Jarvis looks to the screen, and Tony types quickly, giving him a script. Jarvis scans it quickly and says, "If the keycard lock to the room is still working," which Tony made sure it is, "then just leave one guy and get the rest up front until this is contained. Over."
"Understood, sir, four officers en route now, over."
Tony checks the hallway outside the interrogation room to see four officers jogging offscreen; they appear across the TV, making their way to the front of the prison, slipping through a gated door. There's a lone officer outside the door, scanning the hallway diligently.
Acting as control and telling the group to leave such a high-profile prisoner completely unattended would set off alarm bells in any rational human being, and Tony really doesn't want to have to deal with that.
"Okay, Jarvis," Tony mumbles to himself, typing instructions for Jarvis and watching his face as he reads them. "Time to win an Oscar."
Jarvis looks at the camera he knows Tony is watching through and gives a thumbs up, his warm eyes crinkling in amusement.
Tony, no matter how tired he is, can't help but smile.
Tony watches as Jarvis tells Steve what he's going to do, and Steve nods, standing and getting ready. His hands and feet have been freed thanks to Jarvis' paperclip, and he's rolling his shoulders, getting ready to take down the guard outside.
Jarvis calls Tony on his cell phone and Tony puts it on speaker beside the keyboard. "Hey, Jarvis. I see lots of Tony Awards in your future."
"Yes, Anthony, one of your favorite puns. I should have expected it," he says with a fond smile at the camera, and a look of surprise flits across Steve's face, but he doesn't speak immediately. "So, am I to act like a frantic old man?"
"That's what you are most of the time," Tony offers, checking the security footage to make sure most of the guards are still with the bulk of the prisoners. "The guard will open the door to check things out; Steve, knock him out, take his keycard. The cameras are out right now, so don't worry about that. I'll guide you to the nearest exit. Steve, if worse comes to worse, are you okay with using Jarvis as a fake hostage?"
Tony doesn't want any of this to fall on Jarvis. Sure, they're using a fake identity under a fake law firm, and Jarvis is even wearing a wig, colored contacts, and a bit of plaster makeup to reconfigure his nose and mouth, but Tony still worries.
Jarvis is one of the only people he has left.
Startled at being addressed, Steve says, "Uh, yeah. Y-yeah, I can do that. Tony, what—"
"This is absolutely no time for explanations, Cap," Tony says, his fingers flying across the keyboard. A section of his TV on the wall becomes devoted to the blueprint of the prison with a path lit up. "By the way, I'm also suing for copyright infringement or whatever, because I gave you the idea for your name." Tony watches Steve smile at the floor. "Jarvis, I'll stay with you, but in case something happens, I've sent the directions out of there to your phone. You'll have to delete it quick if they catch you."
Jarvis nods. He runs hands through his hair and upsets his neat suit, appearing flustered, and starts banging on the door as Steve hides to the left, ready to strike as it opens.
"Officer! Officer, what's going on? The lights are out!"
Tony watches on screen as the officer turns to face the door at the noise, an expression of irritation crossing his features. "What? What's going on in there?" The shout is muffled through the door, and Tony can barely understand through the call.
"Officer, I can't see anything! I think I must have fainted when the lights went out; I just woke up, and it's completely dark! I can't see my client!"
Tony snorts a laugh into his hand, and Jarvis rolls his eyes good-naturedly at the camera.
"Alright, stand back, sir," the officer says, rolling his eyes not unlike Jarvis as he fumbles for his keycard, unlocking the door. Jarvis scurries back to let him in. The crosses the threshold, his hand flying to his gun and cursing when he sees the empty seat—
Steve strikes in a blur of movement, wrapping an arm around the guard's throat in a perfect chokehold. The guard splutters for a few seconds, then goes limp. Steve eases him to the ground and quickly plucks the ring of keys—including the keycard—off his belt, handing them to Jarvis.
"Take a left and go down the hallway about four hundred feet," Tony says immediately, his eyes frantically scouring the cameras to make sure everything is running smoothly. "Jarvis, you really missed your calling."
"If I were thirty years younger I may reconsider," Jarvis says, hustling in front of Steve who follows close behind, determined, focused. "However, the opportunity is long since past. Though I appreciate your faith in me."
Tony hums in agreement and says, "You're coming up on a checkpoint, but the guard left to help the others. Scan your way through, then head right. There'll be door at the end of a long hallway that leads to the guards' break room, and through there, you'll hit the lobby. Avoid the lobby; turn right just before then, and you'll find the garage. There's a Silver Chevy with the keys in the visor on the first level, second row from the right; car door code is 1126."
Getting the car there in just a few hours has been the hardest part of the operation. Tony called in a favor with one of the shadier contacts he had—one of the contacts he'd been asking about his mother. It sucked to use up a favor, but Tony doesn't regret it. Yet.
He watches their progress on the monitor, and everything is going smoothly until they enter the garage.
Then it…really could have gone better.
Steve and Jarvis burst into the garage with all the stealth and silence of a damn freight train, effectively alerting every guard gearing up their cars to control the perimeter.
Tony admits, he forgot that the garage was on a separate power grid, for security purposes.
Sleep deprivation will do that to a guy.
"That's on me," Tony says as he frantically cuts the power, leaving the guards floundering for their flashlights as Steve and Jarvis ducked behind one of the cement pillars, dodging bullets. "I take that. My bad."
"Anthony, I have the utmost confidence in you," Jarvis says with a calm voice even as he shrinks a bit when a bullet gouges out a bit of cement beside his head. "But I believe this young man and I would like a bit of a game-plan before we continue."
Steve nods quickly, his throat bobbing. He jerks as a bullet embeds itself in the wall beside him.
"Yeah, okay, yeah, gimme a second," Tony rushes, feeling frazzled as he hacks into the air waves over the prison and searches for cars with Bluetooth. There's maybe a hundred cars in the garage right now; out of those, forty-three have Bluetooth, and that is definitely a number he can work with.
"Okay, I'm going to create a diversion," Tony says, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "I'll set off car alarms leading away from the car we planted, but not all of them are going to check it out. Steve, can you fight?"
Steve shuts his eyes, opening them quickly and nodding. Tony can tell he's scared out of his mind, and he really can't blame the guy, but he's glad Steve is keeping his cool.
"Steve, you've just reclaimed your spot as a professional," Tony says, setting off the first car alarm.
Steve huffs a breathy laugh amongst the chaos.
Tony sees the heads of several of the guards, who are taking cover behind their open squad car doors, whip towards the sound.
Not as many of them leave as he'd like. After silent communication, about half of them pile into their squad cars and tear down the side of the parking garage towards the car alarm, and Tony sets off another one on the second floor to lead them away from the fight.
The other half, seven agents in total, advance silently on the pillar with missing chunks of concrete from the continued assault. Their weapons are held high.
Tony lets out a shaking breath. "You guys are…gonna have to work with me," he says quietly, frantically typing, "because I'm going to improvise."
"No disrespect," Steve says, chancing a glance around the side of the pillar, only to duck back as another bullet just barely misses him, "but…shouldn't this have been…part of the plan? Maybe?"
"Dude, you think I had time to plan much of anything?" Tony asks, two inches away from leaving him for the vultures. "All things considered, I'm doing very well, thank you."
Tony takes stock of his capabilities. The officers are slowly closing in, and Tony doesn't really have many options. The guards have probably radioed for backup already, so more guards are on their way. He needs to get them out of there as quickly as he can, but he only as access to everything technologically and electronically controlled…
Hm. Let's see.
Tony says, "Both of you cover your ears and close your eyes."
They do, and Tony sets off the sprinklers, the fire alarms, the severe weather alarms, the prisoner escape alarms, the damn smoke detectors in the mess—every single alarm in the entire compound is going off, and even through the phone, it's one hell of a racket.
Tony watches as the officers whirl around, confused, frantically speaking into their radios, disoriented by the flashing lights and wailing sirens. Tony waits, waits until every individual is looking at someone else, or at their radio, or at the alarms, and then—
"Go! Go now! Run left as fast as you can; get around the wall! The car will be on the left, third spot from the left. Remember, 1126!"
And they run.
Tony's heart is pounding in fear as they sprint, and Tony needs to give Jarvis a raise. No, Tony needs to give Jarvis a country because God bless the man for putting up with him after all the crazy stuff he's put him through.
Also, God bless them both for actually listening to him and running as fast as they could, because the only glance a guard gets of them is on the very end of their sprint, as they both swing around the side of the structure. A stray bullet glances off the wall. Steve hisses, but his only injury is a graze from a chunk of cement that has popped out, and not the actual bullet.
Jarvis punches in the code quickly and with calm fingers, Steve skidding around to the other side and throwing himself in the passenger seat just as Jarvis swings the car out of the spot. The officers round the corner as one, shooting with a barrage of bullets, yelling for backup. The back-window shatters, and Tony jumps in fear as Jarvis and Steve both throw their heads down. By some utter miracle, neither of them are hit.
Tony's already forcing the gate to lift when Jarvis swerves out of the structure, the barred gate just barely scraping the top of the car. The guards standing outside yell for them to stop, firing more shots, but Jarvis is the best driver Tony's ever had, and in five minutes, they're ten miles away.
"Okay, the cops are about four minutes behind you guys," Tony says over the phone. Tony can't see inside the car anymore, but he can hear Steve's ragged breathing and Jarvis' words of assurance. Tony guesses that Steve is probably terrified. He was watching safely from several miles away, but it was a huge firefight.
"Calm down, Golden Boy," Tony says, feigning nonchalance. "We gotcha. You'll be hitting the road with your dysfunctional boyband in no time."
Steve takes a deep, shaking breath, and lets it out slowly between his teeth. "Thank you. I—thank you, Tony. I don't know how I can—how I can ever—"
"Shush and save it for when I've actually gotten you to safety."
Steve laughs. "Sounds good, little guy."
"Oh, God," Tony says, groaning in annoyance. "I'm gonna string Clint up by his damn toenails for that. Don't you dare make that stick."
"Would you prefer Wonder Boy?"
Tony almost falls out of his chair. "Did you just…make a Hercules reference at me?"
Steve snorts, and Tony can almost hear him relaxing. "Yeah, but you got it, which makes you as bad as me."
Tony can hear the tires squeal as Jarvis says, "Oh, Anthony was quite enthralled with Disney for a time. Could quote almost any movie. Hercules was a particular favorite, too."
Tony groans, his mouth open in shock. "Jarvis, you're fired."
Jarvis chuckles. "I believe you said yourself that I'm tenured for life, so…"
"I take it back." Scanning their route, Tony focuses his exhausted mind again, saying, "Okay, Jarvis, there's a dirt road coming up on your right; it'll give you a straight shot to the highway. You'll really need to gun it, no matter how sharp the turns are; if they box you in on that road, I can't help you."
Tony really hates feeling helpless, but that's how he feels the entire time they're on that stretch of dirt road. The cops in pursuit are approaching the turnoff that Jarvis took, and Tony feels his heart clench.
"Dammit!" He yells as one car peels off from the others, following the dirt road. "They're onto you. Maybe two minutes behind; I know what a safe driver you are, Jarvis, but this is time to throw driving school out the window, okay?"
Tony can almost feel Jarvis' grin. "I'm not the best for nothing, Anthony."
And Jarvis drives.
Tony can hear Steve breathing heavily as the tires squeal, and Tony is almost afraid that the crappy car is going to come apart under all that strain. "Jarvis, I'm buying you a country," he says as he watches the squad car fall further and further behind, finally feeling like they may actually pull this off with everyone in one piece. The car Jarvis and Steve are in is making all sorts of bad decisions on what really is quite an unstable road, but Jarvis makes it work. "Remind me to do that."
Jarvis merely gives a soft laugh, merging onto the highway and blending seamlessly into traffic. "Of course."
Tony finally takes a deep breath, putting his head down on his desk and sighing. "Okay, just…drive for a while. Blend in and hope everyone ignores the fact that you don't have a back windshield and that your car is covered in bullet holes."
"We set up a meeting point," Steve says, his breathing heavy, but he sounds otherwise okay. "Tony, if I give you an approximate location, would you be able to find it?"
Wonderful. More work. He did promise to see this through, though, so…what the hell. What's another couple hours? "Okay. Hit me."
Steve gives him the vaguest description he's ever heard, and it takes Tony nearly twenty minutes to narrow it down. Steve confirms the location on Jarvis' cell phone, and then it's just a matter of Tony waiting for them to get there.
The rest of the ride is silent. Tony's about to ask what's up when Jarvis says softly into his phone, "He's asleep."
"Oh," Tony responds. "I wondered why he wasn't calling me names anymore."
Jarvis chuckles, then Tony can almost hear him sober up over the phone. "Anthony…Tony…you know I'll always help you, with whatever you need, and I'm very proud of you for wanting to help these young people. But…" Tony braces himself. "Are you sure you're making the right decision?"
Tony breathes out, sighing and leaning back. "Are you sure he's asleep?"
"Well, if he's not, he's a very good actor," Jarvis says, his voice muffled as he glances over to the sleeping figure beside him. "I'm sure the day's events have taken quite a toll on him."
Tony sighs. "Yeah, I guess. I just…they're doing good things, Jarvis. Things that I wish I could be able to do. They're helping people. Kids. Like…like me, who can't fight back."
Jarvis breathes out. "You know you can always come to me, Tony. I have contacts—"
"It's too dangerous," he says immediately. "It's too dangerous. They'll know it was you, and they'll find me within a day, you know they will."
Tony can almost imagine the tense of Jarvis' jaw, the tightening of his fingers on the steering wheel. "I hate seeing you suffer."
Tony closes his eyes. His exhaustion is making it hard to reign in his emotions, and he feels tears gather in his eyes. He's so, so tired. "I know. I'm sorry."
Jarvis gives a bitter laugh. "It is light years away from being your fault, little master."
Tony smiles at the old name. He clears his throat. "Your next turn is in half a mile, to the left. There should be the warehouse Steve was talking about on your right, but across from that there's a supermarket that closed down a while ago, and it's abandoned now. Park there and leave the car; I'll loop the cameras while you two walk to the warehouse."
Jarvis gives an affirmative answer, though Tony knows he isn't happy with how the conversation ended.
Tony sighs. His adrenaline is crashing, and no matter how much coffee he's had, his body is craving sleep. His vision is wavering at the edges, his upper body swaying in his seat, and he has to grip the edge of the desk to steady himself.
"Anthony?" Jarvis' voice sounds worried, and Tony absently realizes that he's parking the car in front of the supermarket. "Are you okay?"
Tony realizes he's breathing heavily and says, "Y-yeah, I just…I need to sleep."
Jarvis' voice is instantly like ice. "How long have they been working you?"
Tony swallows and shuts his eyes. "I dunno. Maybe…ten days? Eleven? I just finished when I heard about Steve."
"Go to sleep, little master," Jarvis says softly, and Tony can hear him getting out of the car. "I'll take care of them. I have your instructions, and I believe we've shaken off the authorities; just leave the rest to me."
Tony wants to cry. He wants to cry because no matter how much work he does or how adult he tries to act and appear, he's only thirteen and it's so rare for him to hear someone assure him that they'll take care of something for him. Besides chores, he does everything for himself, and sometimes, it's more than he can handle.
"Thank you," he says in a broken whisper, his voice trembling. He shuts down everything on his laptop and quickly wipes any traces of his involvement, resetting the electricity and everything at the maximum-security prison, exactly the way it was before. "For…for everything."
"Nothing to thank me for, Anthony," Jarvis says, and Tony hears the wind whipping at his jacket. "Sleep now. I'll call you later."
Tony trudges to his bed. "Goodnight," he says, falling into his bed, clumsily setting the phone in the nightstand drawer, his trembling fingers barely able to clasp the switch to turn off the lamp.
Tony falls asleep almost immediately, just as the sun starts to peek through the windows.
…
Steve opens his eyes when Jarvis steps out of the car, still on the phone with Tony.
Needless to say, he doesn't like what he's hearing, and he makes a mental note to start investigating Tony Stark as a side project. Jarvis and Tony were using pronouns all through their conversation, so Steve isn't exactly sure who's hurting him…but Steve's going to start with the father. Tony's…an amazingly capable person with a hidden kindness that Steve can never repay. He's…a good kid, and the thought of him suffering makes Steve sick.
He doesn't hear the rest of the conversation, but he knows when Jarvis knocks on his window that it's as good a time as any to pretend to wake up. He blinks heavily, stretching his sore muscles, yawning widely—and none of that is an act. The day has exhausted him, and he's so ready to feel safe again, surrounded by his family.
He steps out of the car and nods across the street. "That's the warehouse." He pauses, wondering if he's overstepping, but says, "Would you…like to come with me? The others are going to want to say thank you. I mean, for helping me—"
"Thank you, Mr. Rogers, but I must decline," Jarvis said with a kind smile. "Anthony has gone to bed; he had…a project, and he hasn't slept much over the past few days." Steve remembers that bit of the conversation and has no problem finding the bitterness in Jarvis' eyes. "And I wouldn't want to scare the others; they don't know me, and despite my help, I know it would probably put them on edge."
He gives a gently smile and says, "I'm glad that you're safe, Mr. Rogers, and for what it's worth…I think you're doing good work." He holds out his hand. There's a glint in his eye, and Steve would wonder what it meant, had he not just eavesdropped on their conversation.
Steve shakes it, reminded of Tony's words in his mom's garden that night. "That means a lot, Mr. Jarvis," he says, gripping the man's hand firmly. "I just…I can't tell you how grateful I am for you and Tony's help. I don't…I don't know what would've happened if…"
Steve can't even finish the sentence. Now that he's safe, now that he's about to be reunited with his family, he's terrified of what could have happened…what almost did happen. He doesn't want to be locked up, and he doesn't want to be separated from them. The thought terrifies him.
Jarvis gives him a warm smile, his eyes twinkling. "I know that in this instance, it was simply an unfortunate situation…but try not to get caught again, hm?"
Steve laughs. "I'll try."
With a final nod, he starts walking away. He can feel his heart beating in excitement and anticipation with every step he takes further to this warehouse, because inside is everything he loves, and he's so, so ready to be home.
"Steve."
Jarvis' low voice stops him, and about two hundred feet from the warehouse, he stops and turns. "Should you ever cross paths with Anthony again…and believe me, if he has his way, you will…watch out for him." Steve blinks, the request taking him by surprise. "He'd be very unhappy if he knew I was saying anything, but…he looks up to the six of you quite a lot. He admires you." Jarvis pauses, taking an unsteady breath and looking away. "He's a very capable young man and a genius to boot, but…I believe that he himself, and the people around him, often forget that he's only thirteen years old."
Steve nods. He can see how that would happen, because he's forgotten himself over the past hour or so. Squaring his shoulders, he turns to face the man. "If I see him again…I'll remember that. And please tell him…I'll never be able to repay him."
Jarvis smiles, satisfied. "I will. Now go. You have some people waiting for you."
Steve gives the first truly genuine smile of the entire night, a toothy grin he rarely, rarely gets, and all but runs to the door of the warehouse.
With one last glance at Jarvis, who's walking towards the main road, he opens the door.
It's pitch black, just like he knows it will be. He hears the distinct click of a gun, feels Natasha's eyes on him from the left, feels Bucky's scope on his faceless form from the rafters. He closes the door behind him and holds up his hands, saying with a tired smirk, "You should really be nicer to a guy that just got out of prison."
He feels the air still around him as they all stop short in realization, then there's a frantic scrambling, running footsteps, and pretty soon he has an armful of Bruce, the kid's skinny arms wrapped tightly around his neck, his face buried in his shoulder.
"Steve," Bruce chokes out, and the kid is a sobbing and trembling mess in Steve's arms, "S-Steve."
"Hey," he breathes softly, wrapping his arms around his back, kneeling when Bruce can't even hold himself up anymore. "Hey, I've got you, kiddo, I'm here, I'm okay."
He feels the others close in from all sides, and he looks up, giving them a wet smile. "What's for dinner? Prison food wasn't all that appealing."
Clint looks torn between laughing and punching him as he whispers, "I hate you," and kneels beside him, leaning his forehead on his shoulder. "I hate you so freaking much, man."
Bucky and Thor skip words altogether, throwing themselves into the hug with desperation, and Steve wishes his arms were bigger so he could embrace them all.
Natasha scoffs from his place to the side. "And people say women are emotional."
Steve wriggles an arm out of the tangle of limbs around him, holding it out to her. He smiles and says, "Get in here, Nat. You know you love us."
A tired, exasperated smile forming on her lips, she does.
And Steve has never been happier.
A/N: Awww my KIDS I love them so much
So, what did you guys think? Hope you enjoyed some emotional roller coaster, and my man Jarvis, because I love him to death. Please drop a review if you have a minute!
NostalgicFangirl: Thanks so much! I hope this didn't disappoint!
And for those of you drawing ideas from the first two chapters, it's not always Tony saving the Avengers…it definitely get to be the other way around, too ;)
Thanks so much for reading! I hope you all enjoyed!